


Cursed

by Al_D_Baran



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M, Mpreg, Not Beta Read, Sheith Halloween Exchange 2017, also very background and for a reason haha im sorry, its very subtle and background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 05:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12720657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Al_D_Baran/pseuds/Al_D_Baran
Summary: Keith investigates to find the Beast that terrorises his husband's lordship.





	Cursed

**Author's Note:**

> ooooh lord.  
> for @neroligrimm who requested a werewolf/shapeshifters au. sorry to be so late and to deliver something that is uh. 6k words of i don't know. i hope you'll enjoy this anyway! <3  
> for @vldexchange for the sheith halloween week and SUPER late i'm sorry college kicks my ass. i've made it 6k a little to make up but idk what short is. can you eat it? i don't know.  
> i tried to make it typically fantastical aka the irruption of the fantastic in everyday life and drew some inspiration from maupassant. he's really good i love him. anyway i hope you like it dude ; u ;

“It’s the third winter in a row,” Keith deplored, staring at the mangled body of a sheep at his feet, its throat torn open by powerful claws and teeth.

“That’s the third sheep in three months,” the peasant countered angrily, giving his now worthless investment a little kick, defeated. “And what’s our Lord doing about our cattle getting decimated? Nothing!” he finished with a sneer, staring to the mansion, sitting atop of an hill, much like a king on its throne, sprawled over it with the long limbs of its wings, comfortably nested between its walls and towers.

Keith glared at him, voice high and even, commanding as he spoke, “ _Our Lord_ is doing everything he can stop the Beast. Don’t underestimate his efforts. He truly cares about you and all of his subjects.” He snuggled closer in his fur cloak, hiding his nose in the collar to keep the biting cold of late winter away. The young man couldn’t wait to be in his apartments, surrounded with even more lavish furs, in front of a warm hearth and in the even warmer arms of his mate.

“As much efforts as your husband might be doing, it’s not enough if our sheep and cows keep getting murdered,” the man carried on, barely holding his spite even as he feared the wrath of his lords – Keith was a good man, but he demanded respect and that respect had to be obtained, lest the peasant wanted to be punished, as the Lord thought that serfs could sometimes use it to be reminded of their place. “Our Lord’s quite busy, I understand, Sir… but it’s not good for business. He’s a good man and a better lord, but this Beast must be stopped or none of us will be able to pay what we owe to you.”

Keith sighed loudly. That, he understood.

And Shiro was indeed quite busy. Perhaps too much with the coming conflicts and raising the armies he owed to the King to care much about the deaths of a few sheep. After all, he’d be causing the one of more than a few men. Shiro was a fearsome warrior and Keith found that terribly handsome in him, maybe a little too much for a boy who had been raised with monks.

His husband was always so worried about his people and so exhausted from his work.

“I’ll lead the investigation,” Keith declared, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He gave another look to the poor ewe in front of them, thinking it was a shame for the wool to have been tainted like this. A waste of money and the meat would be wasted, too.

The shepherd beamed at his words, his eyes lighting up with joy, “Oh, little Lord! You are too good to us and you care so deeply! I hope you can catch this damned Beast so our artisans can make you a cloak out of its hide. You’ve made our lives better since our dear Lord’s married you!”

Keith cleared his throat, suddenly feeling flustered at the amount of praise, “It’s… just my duty.” He ran a hand over his nape. “I need to leave now. I’ll have to oversee dinner as it’s made but I’m sure his Grace will be pleased to know there’s one less thing he has to think of.”

Plus, Keith wasn’t as busy as Shiro was in the winter. They were even boring, mostly spent calculating income and spending, something he had learned from the monks who had raised him after being orphaned, making him a prized member of the household and not just by being the resident Lord’s spouse. Since marrying him, even when he was happier than he’d ever been and Shiro always spoiled him mercilessly, Keith couldn’t help but miss adventure, yearn for something that would break the ever-unfolding routine. It might have been his last one in a long time – part of duties was to give Shiro an heir and that would be happening _soon_ enough, seeing how… _enthusiastic_ they were. Keith felt a blush creep up his cheeks at the idea.

“Don’t worry about it more than you should,” Keith assured the old man again. “I’ll take care of it as quickly as I can.”

.

.

.

As soon as he was home, Keith started to search for whatever clues he could gather.

The first obvious thing to do was to ask the servants, as they had family in the villages of Shiro’s estate and they were sure to have discussed the attacks with them. The audiences took the better part of the rest of his day before the sky darkened with the hour of dinner. Even as Keith oversaw the preparation of it, marmitons hurried around the kitchen without holding any of their blabber about the Beast inside. They had found a willing ear and they would not let it thirst for anything they knew or _thought_ at all, the excited chatter making the kitchen livelier than usual.

Some of them spoke of divine punishment. For what? They could not tell. Some said men had strayed and thus, God was punishing them with the Beast. Others would directly accuse the devil, saying he or another demon had taken the form of the feral creature that killed their cattle. An old cook kept saying that soon, men would die because of it because how could the Devil satisfy itself from sheep blood? The discussions were mostly worthless but something interesting couldn’t help but notice something common – a description, of a great black wolf, immense and with shimmering yellow eyes.

So, just a wolf.

They were usually scared of men but Keith didn’t put it past particularly aggressive one to try itself at easy preys like cattle, even when it was so afraid of humans. If the Beast was so elusive it would escape a few hunting parties, it must have been an intelligent animal, smart enough to lead skilled hunters into an impasse. Maybe it was rabid and this was why it would attack. A marmiton even told him, with a laugh, it could have been a feral man who lived in the woods. And with how deep they were, Keith believed it might have not been impossible… even when it didn’t make sense, when the kills were left seemingly where they had let out their last breath.

He had laughed, remembering the way its throat had been ripped open. What man could have done that? It didn’t make any sense.

.

.

.

For many days, Keith didn’t know where to look.

It seemed like the task was so immense that he wasn’t sure what to do to find something.

He started with the obvious: reading reports from the men Shiro had assigned to investigate the cattle kills. A fruitful idea, to his pleasant surprise. He learned nothing much but the dozen files showed that each sheep and cow had been killed in the same way, showing a modus operandi. An officer, perhaps not knowing how to write himself, had even drawn a simplified picture of the sheep, pointing out any interesting evidence on it. A paragraph had been added after by another, leaving a detailed description. Each time, the wounds were on the neck, the throat slit messily and each had been eviscerated, the innards pulled out, half-eaten afterwards. One organ seemed to be the Beast’s favourite, however, as, each time, the reports stated that the liver was entirely missing.

Keith worked until late in the nights, until Shiro would urge him to come to bed with him, standing behind him in his simplest apparel, pressing dozens of kisses across his forehead, then his cheeks, then his neck and, as Keith couldn’t help but giggle, lower and lower… He simply could never resist his mate.

After a few days of that little game, Shiro finally asked him, as they basked in the comfortable afterglow of conjugality, having both arms wrapped around his lover’s shoulders, “What have you been doing all week?”

Keith settled a little more comfortably over his lover’s scarred chest, “I’ve been trying to find some clues to get that Beast. You know, the one that keeps killing cattle? I thought you could need some duties off your back. You know, with the King and the war…”

There was a short pause to Shiro’s gentle touches across his forearm. As he started again, the man asked, voice clearly tight with worry, “Really? You surely know but that’s dangerous… and I’d prefer if you stayed somewhere safe like the mansion.”

Keith huffed, “I’m no little boy or maiden. I know what I’m doing. If it reassures you, I won’t lead any hunting parties to find it if I get a clue of where to look.” Keith trusted their men to follow his leads. He knew Ulaz was a smart, prudent man.

Secretly, still, Keith promised to go with them if he could.

He missed the danger, the adventures. As a child, with the monks, Keith had fled the abbey relentlessly. As much as he thanked them now to have taught him how to write, the outside world had been too appealing. As much as he loved Shiro and understood his worry for him to leave at night in deep, dark woods to meet a dangerous beast known to be murderous, Keith just couldn’t take being cooped up for so long. Nor his husband nor expectations from society would be able to stop him.

Shiro didn’t seem to like his mate’s hermetic tone but he knew better than to push it when Keith spoke like this. Laying a miss in the younger man’s hairline, Shiro ran his thumb across his jaw tenderly, murmuring a declaration of love against his scalp.

“I just want you to be safe,” he said.

Keith wrapped both arms around the man’s tapered waist, nodding as he hid his face into his neck, and answered, “I know.”

He only felt a little guilty of his plans.

.

.

.

As days passed and winter comfortably installed itself around them, blanketing the land with a layer of thick snow, Keith saw the months pass without much new leads. He grew frustrated with his fruitless research, leading his escort to the new corpses, listening to the angered grievances of the peasants, taking it even when it only added fuel to the fire.

Each new corpse was surrounded with a mess of blood, each of the trails leading back to the forest. The party followed them without finding anything but dead ends, sometimes clumps of dark fur in the bushes. Keith examined it, seeing it was coarse and left a rather greasy feeling on his fingertips, much like a dog’s fur. A wolf, then. It really was a wolf. A stupid beast that kept getting away from him, right under his nose.

The lack of encouragement from his usually enthusiastic mate was also souring his mood. Shiro barely listened to him when he spoke about it, even falling asleep during their conversation once. Even as he apologized many times, Keith had refused to hear him. Contrite, Shiro had left him alone as Keith seemed to want. It was only later the young man had noticed how terribly exhausted the man looked and had relented, allowing him to join him in bed for the night, pulling his head to his chest.

Many nights, Keith woke up to his mate leaving bed after their duties had been accomplished. It wasn’t unheard of – Shiro told him he liked to take walks at night to alleviate some stress and the cool air of winter would help his exhaustion, he said. Too tired from his challenging work to find the Beast, Keith had just rolled to the other side, requesting his lover to be careful.

The King was displeased with Shiro, his husband reported, one day, to explain his tired state. The war efforts he had furnished had been seen as too little, his vision of war too different for his Majesty. Shiro was a tactician and Zarkon was, at best, a brute who believed that any plan was superfluous and what they needed was to hit quickly and hard. It led to many disagreements and as diplomatic as Shiro tried to be, the King didn’t seem to think it was a required skill for his kingly person. Keith had never liked him – not since the King had insulted his late father, a Lord of his court.

With their personal woes, both of them agreed of the importance of being there for one another. Even as unsatisfied as they were with their duties, they tried to make time for their relationship. If their marriage was one of convenience and alliance, it didn’t mean that they weren’t in love. They had always been, even since before their wedding night. Their affection, as great as it was, still needed them to tend to it, to take time for a walk in the garden, covered with frost and to play in the snow. They never failed to spend lunch and dinner together, speaking of their days and making an effort to show interest in whatever the other was speaking of.

Even if, honestly, Shiro could never find poetry as interesting as Keith did and neither could Keith find anything nice in hunting, they listened closely. Often, however, they spoke of their shared passion of astronomy and the stars, of the mythology attached to it. Keith was highly educated and Shiro drank his knowledge greedily.

Some nights they met in bed, shared in with tenderness and Keith never felt more united with the sky and the sea and the stars than when he was into his lover’s strong arms. Shiro’s warm breath into his shoulder felt like the gust of summer’s hot air, even when his own breathing came out in puffs above the blankets. The draughts left the bedroom freezing but he could barely feel it in Shiro’s arms.

And they told each other how great their love was during these nights. There was no hesitation to believe in any of their words.

In days where he found nothing and was ready to give up, it only took a kiss from his mate to settle his mind. He’d find the beast for him.

.

.

.

And on a clear day of November, Keith woke up from nausea.

He rushed out of bed to the chamber pot, retching until he could feel his throat burn. As he was never sick, his first thought was that he was with child and, gingerly, the young man touched his stomach, finding nothing, not even the littlest bump. Shiro was nowhere to be seen and, curled around the bed’s feet, Keith smiled, remembering how his chest had felt so sensitive and heavy.

Shiro and him had been married for a little over a year now.

His mate came back only minutes later and rushed to his side, worry clear in his eyes as he stared at the pot next to him. At that, Keith just smiled, taking his hands in his, “Shiro… I think you’re going to be a father.”

If the man had not been kneeling just next to him, Keith was convinced he would have fallen. Disbelief etched over his chiseled features, his eyes darting to the young man’s still flat stomach before he burst into laughter, tearing up before crying, pulling the Omega to his chest, babbling without being able to form a clear sentence.

“Keith, I love you so much,” was the only thing Keith heard through the mess of joyful sounds that came from him.

And Keith knew Shiro would be an amazing father. He wrapped his arms around his shoulders and promised to himself that he’d do everything to bring this child, happy and safe, into this world, just to give it to Shiro. His mate deserved this, deserved fatherhood more than anyone else he knew.

.

.

.

The news lightened everybody’s mood and for the next few days, Shiro could be seen smiling at any time of the day. Even in his sleep. Keith awoke at night sometimes to relieve himself – which, according to the midwives, was normal when one was expecting – and would see it, the tiny smile, making Shiro look handsome and peaceful.

Keith felt restless at night now, waking up often and unable to fall back asleep. He knew he had to take it easy, take as little risks as possible to insure the child would make it. He ate everything the midwives proposed him, even if it tasted foul to him, even when he wanted nothing more than an eel pie and felt like it was the world’s greatest injustice that they lived too far from the river to have one as soon as he wanted.

When he couldn’t fall back asleep, he looked back over his reports, starting at the newest one, from last month, and noticed something he’d never noticed. The date.

He calculated. If it had been written the next day, then…

Keith lifted an eyebrow, picking up the others to see if it was something common. It was true, the attacks had always been on similar days, but… had they always been as regular as clockwork?

They had.

There was always twenty-eight days between each attack. How had he never seen this? Keith rushed to his calendar, a sinking feeling of unease awakening in him, growing even deeper when he noticed the last report. The date coincided with the full moon.

A great black beast, smart and elusive, leaving coarse dark hair behind it.

Suddenly, the theory of the devil didn’t seem so stupid. Keith couldn’t believe it. He shook his head – it couldn’t have been what he thought. The next full moon would be next week.

Keith stared out to the opaque window of their bedroom, where a sliver of moonlight slipped into the room. He’d find out soon.

.

.

.

The next morning, when Keith stared at the lifeless eye of the lamb and listened to the peasant’s screams, he knew this wasn’t any normal wolf.

They had to catch it.

Keith led a hand to his stomach under his thick cloak, finding himself filled with intense worry for his child. It couldn’t be dangerous if the wolf was only attacking cattle but Keith could only worry now, as all the others, that it would get a liking for human flesh.

And he needed to protect this new life. Needed to bring it into this world, safe and sound, for Shiro, for the man who deserved to have children more than anyone he knew.

That night, when he met Shiro for dinner, he found him exhausted and grim, eyes dark and body weary. When Keith attempted to cheer him up by proposing he’d go hunting, his eyes filled with tears. That evening, he let him sleep on his chest, brushing his short hair, letting him be silent, threading his fingers through his as Shiro protectively rested it on his stomach.

Keith didn’t push him to speak.

He must have been as worried as he was, he thought. For him, he’d catch that Beast.

.

.

.

This time, Keith tried to find where the Beast would attack next. It seemed aleatory, like it would go wherever it wanted to, eat any ewe it wanted to, but there had to be a pattern. If there was one to the days, maybe there was one to the location. There didn’t seem to be any, not quite, but the attacks were always in a radius of about one league around the castle. There were woods there, on the south and… it seemed the attacks would always originate from there.

Now he had a month to organize a hunting party and the castle was full of weapons for it. Keith would find that Beast and he’d make sure it would never worry a soul again.

.

.

.

Shiro made him promise to stay home the night of the hunt. Begrudgingly, Keith accepted, requesting his lover to do the same.

Shiro wanted to join the hunt.

Keith spoke of their unborn child, pleading for him to stay, genuinely terrified the Beast could have hurt him. If it was getting tired of sheep, how long would it stay on lambs? Maybe it would attack humans then.

Shiro looked pained, as if torn between accompanying his men and staying for what would be their family, his future and his bloodline.

Eventually, he accepted and slipped back under the blankets, trailing unsure fingers across Keith’s now harder stomach, spreading his fingers across the warmer skin.

Keith awoke when he left in the middle of the night, looking as if he had not slept at all, like he was haunted by a devil.

.

.

.

The hunting party was unsuccessful. Ulaz apologized profusely that morning but assured he had seen the Beast – it was a great black wolf, a little less than twice bigger than an average one. The word werewolf danced in his mind. The full moon, a wolf…

“It’s killed a maiden this time,” Ulaz announced. Keith felt like he had failed, staring at the maiden’s skin as the commander lifted the blanket, white from exsanguination. The stomach was opened – Keith didn’t even need to look deeper to know her liver was missing. She was pretty, ashen blonde and with lovely hands. Keith closed her eyes and asked for money to be sent to her family, even if it wouldn’t bring back their daughter. He promised to go see them, to apologize.

He listened to the maiden’s brother, who had found it eating his sister’s flesh and had managed to touch it. He spoke in details of its dark furs, of the glowing yellow eyes. The boy sobbed and called for his dear sister, requesting Keith, with fire in his eyes, to put a stop to the Beast’s carnage.

Keith felt like he couldn’t do it but he still promised him that he would.

Failure was heavy on him this day, the murmur of the attack and the Beast’s new taste for human flesh leaving all servants on edge. Some looked at him as if it was his fault and Keith couldn’t blame them.

Shiro came to breakfast this morning, wearier than he had ever seen him and Keith couldn’t believe his own fiasco could have hurt him this much. His eyelids were dark and his skin pale, his hair shaggy and his nose red from the cold. Keith wondered if he had slept at all. When he reached to hold his hand to show him he was there for whatever seemed to worry him so much, Shiro pulled it away and looked at him with something heavy in his eyes.

“Keith,” he murmured, letting out a sob as he hid his eyes into his palm, shoulders shaking softly.

The young man circled the table, placing both hands on the Alpha’s shoulders as he stood behind him. This time, Shiro reached to squeeze his hand.

When the servant placed a meal of cow liver in front of Shiro, Keith couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Shiro never let go of his hand, staring at his meal like it was it that would be devouring him, laying his right arm down on the table, pulling the linen sleeve up to itch his upper elbow.

Keith noticed the nick of a knife on it, angry and red and swollen.

Even when Keith cleaned it and bandaged it, Shiro refused to speak about it. And when he requested to nap with him, Keith accepted, letting his husband use his lap as a pillow, staring at him as he pensively pressed his forehead to the growing swell of his stomach.

.

.

.

Shiro was so gentle.

He had always been.

Keith remembered their wedding night, of the careful caresses and the constant conversation, the expert touches and the sweet kisses to his forehead. Shiro had made him laugh, had made him relax by being so damn charming, so tender and by going to his pace. Even, as he counted backward, during his courting, Shiro had bought him flowers and gifts, so much that even the abbey Thace had found a liking to him, even when he was like a father to Keith and acted as such toward him.

Could even an abbey had seen wrong? Could Shiro have been a devil all this time, cleverly hiding his beast form from him? Keith paced his room in panic, a hand over the fruit of their union and wondered if even their little one would be a devil. Keith was far from the most pious man but for the last week, he hadn’t been able to return Shiro’s love as enthusiastically as he should have.

Granted, Shiro was absent. Shiro seemed more tired than ever, often staring into nothingness and sometimes, he found him crying at night.

Even now, Keith wished he could have brought back the smile he had for days when he had announced him he was expecting. Shiro had been so happy – and the man he had married deserved that. It must have all been simply conjectures. Because it all correlated didn’t meant that Shiro _was_ the Beast indeed.

Yet… his sorrow, his frequent leaves at night and how he loved liver… Keith couldn’t help but think something was wrong with him.

Keith decided he could confront him.

But he couldn’t. Not when Shiro needed him as a pillar, as a rock. Not when there was still clearly love for him, not when Shiro promised he loved him even through tears. Shiro regretted – he was no willing devil. He had refused to go see the maiden’s family, bursting into tears and promptly leaving the room when Keith had asked if he wanted to.

Shiro was the poor victim of a curse, Keith decided after a week of tergiversation.

And he would save him, he promised.

Because Shiro deserved it. He deserved everything.

.

.

.

Books about lycanthropy were hard to come back and Keith found himself having to translate a Greek book, old and dusty, which had been sitting in the abbey’s library. The priests congratulated him for carrying the Lord’s heir, speaking of how proud they were. Even Thace piped in, saying how happy he was that Keith had found someone so good to him.

Finding cures to such a curse was difficult. The first few books he devoured gave him nothing much and, paranoid to arise suspicion, Keith sneaked few under his cloak with the personal promise to bring them back later. He read them at night with the comfort that Shiro could not read Latin nor Greek, with his husband’s head comfortably settled on his shoulder.

After a week’s worth of intense reading, Keith found something that could help him. A small paragraph speaking of cures a scholar had gathered from a small community of the North, pretending that making the wolf bleed with a cross-shaped mark would remind it of its humanity and save its soul. Keith found nothing else that would allow him to save the Beast without killing it. He crossed his fingers, hoping it would work and laid the book down.

In a week, he would know.

.

.

.

Shiro grew more and more reclusive as the days went by. Keith barely saw him but when they would sleep together. Their sweet intimacy was gone even when Keith did all he could to revive it, revive Shiro’s happy side. As caring as ever, the man asked him to wear more cloaks and stay warm, asked him how he felt, if sickness had subsided. Keith promised that he felt better. His stomach had a more noticeable swell now, even if it was only when he was naked but Shiro seemed to cherish it nonetheless.

As if to atone, the man had bought dozens of gifts for their child and seemed both wary and ecstatic to meet it. Keith wanted him to stop worrying, wanting him to be able to fully enjoy having a child, something he had always wanted.

Even when Shiro didn’t want him to leave, Keith left at night on his tip toes, dressing in the guards’ room with Ulaz standing close, hanging him a knife and a musket. None knew of his thoughts and his plans and Keith followed them into the woods, a little away, as he had planned with Ulaz.

February was always the coldest month, as if winter was trying to grip the world a little tighter before spring came to clear the snow and revive the crops. Keith shivered under his furs, gripping the knife under the many layers he wore. At any noise, he whipped his head around. His admittedly rushed plan was simply to find Shiro and lie to the guards if they found him. Keith wasn’t sure why but he thought perhaps a lone prey would be what the Beast would be looking for.

He just needed to cut the wolf, just a little. Put a little cross-shaped mark on him and Shiro would be saved from his curse. Keith thought of the future they would be sharing and took a deep breath, patience would yield focus, he knew.

As if to give himself strength, he repeated the mantra Shiro had taught him, turning around as he heard the sound of steps behind him. The wolf, it turned out, was much bigger in person than Keith had expected it to be. He came to half his torso at the shoulder and had a large triangular head, a snarl on its maws. Keith lifted his knife, holding the musket in his other hand.

The wolf circled him with a few careful sniffs, staring into right his eyes.

“Shiro?” he called and its ears peaked at the name, curiously, as if recognising it.

For an instant, Keith expected the wolf to just walk away or approach him to lick his hand or request to be petted, letting out little whines as it approached him amiably. A step he took to quickly seemed to make it remember that it was a feral and dangerous beast, the snarl returning as well as the yellow glint of light in its eyes. Keith lifted his knife and tried to flee, falling to the ground.

He watched as the musket flew away from his grasp, keeping the knife over him and closed his eyes, catching the image of the wolf jumping to devour him and slashed, self-preservation taking over as he used his other hand to shield his stomach.

Blood gushed over him as he hit the wolf’s face, earning a long high-pitched yip. Keith felt the warm liquid spill over his shirt and penetrate it. The wolf raised a paw – no, it was a hirsute, clawed hand, hiding the deep gash over its nose before it rushed back to him, lifting his devilish hand to strike him. Keith knew he had no choice but to fight and called out, again, “Shiro!”

He thrusted the knife blindly, this time, hitting the wolf’s leg, the sharp knife almost sectioning it. The wolf screamed again, dragging itself away, tails between his legs, now only whining, as if sorrowful. Its eyes lost their shine and the wolf looked at him, with a gaze so intelligent Keith had no worry that his mate was in there. When he tried to touch him, Shiro shied away and fled, looking back once as he dragged himself away.

Keith followed suit, calling out for him again and again. He ran for as long as he could, once again slipping in the muddy snow, finding Shiro near the edge of the woods. This time, the man was himself again, looking at him with tired grey eyes. Keith reached for him, pulling him to his chest and pressed their foreheads together.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, running his fingers through Shiro’s hair. It was whitening now in many places, as if seeing him there had terrorized him to his very core.

Shiro’s teeth chattered, he weakly tried to pull away.

“Would you have loved me then?” Shiro asked in turn, sounding so sorrowful Keith could only weep for how lonely he must have been during their marriage, bearing such a heavy secret.

Keith didn’t hesitate one second. “Yes,” he declared, with more fervour than he had declared his marriage vows. “I would have loved you anyway. I’ll love you always. I want to help you,” Keith added, lifting his knife as he tried, again, to carve the cross, hopeful.

“There’s no cure for this,” Shiro answered softly, turning his eyes to his. “I’ve tried everything, my love, I did. I can’t change what I am.”

“Then you don’t need to change,” Keith said. “We’ll find a way together.”

And Shiro cried, once again, as if he did not deserve Keith’s devotion.

.

.

.

Ulaz covered them and Keith could tell he knew. Still, the man pretended he had seen the wolf run away, saying Shiro must have been looking for his spouse when he had fled during the night to help the hunt. He passed it as youth’s stupidity, as Keith was still young enough for it, and so was Shiro, to go looking for his mate without telling anyone.

Shiro’s arms couldn’t be saved and when gangrene settled in, the surgeon cleanly cut it away. Keith stayed until Shiro awoke again, guilty to look at the hole to his right side. Shiro just smiled, pulling the boy close with his remaining arm and kissed his forehead.

“You were defending yourself,” he said, softly, when they were alone. “I would have not been able to live with myself had I actually hurt you.”

“He saved me,” Shiro would say to anyone else, with stars in his eyes, perfectly playing the smitten lover. “Wasn’t I smart to marry such a brave young man?”

It didn’t help him.

Keith waited anxiously to see the days pass, staring as March rolled in, as Shiro got better faster than a man should have. Was this the curse’s doing? Shiro seemed more serene somehow, smiling in a wise way and confided him he had been shifting since he hit puberty. He did not know where the curse had come from, he admitted. He had stopped looking – his family had perhaps angered a witch, or a devil and it was why he was like this. He couldn’t tell. He had always been like this.

Shiro kept a deep scar to his nose, the internal damage important enough for him to start snoring. Breathing was now harder too but the man seemed… to just accept it. Was this a façade so Keith wouldn’t feel too much guilt? Keith didn’t know and Shiro wouldn’t speak of it. Maybe it would come in time.

.

.

.

When the night of the full moon rolled in, Shiro hid the window with a thick curtain. Keith wasn’t sure what to think of it but at least, his lover seemed to be feeling better, energetic, even, if he was a little worried. Keith wasn’t sure what they would be doing. Should they leave in the woods? He didn’t know.

Shiro pushed him back in bed and kissed him when night came.

And Keith simply fell asleep, deciding to trust him.

Perhaps he had been looking at this the wrong way. Perhaps spilling blood wasn’t the way to go, even if it was what books told him to do. Keith had a feeling it would be alright and when he woke to the sound of panting, he sat up slowly, looking at the carpet in front of the roaring fire, noticing the wolf there, happily basking in the fire’s glow. Keith stood to go meet it, seeing Shiro’s tail wag happily. He even rolled to show his stomach, letting Keith reach out and pet his vulnerable tummy.

They pressed foreheads together and Keith wrapped his arms around his neck, laying against his side. Shiro made a content little bark and Keith fell asleep like this, happy, content. In the morning, he woke in bed, next to Shiro’s sleeping form.

And the following month, the night of the full moon was a typical one.

With Shiro’s gentle snoring in his ear.

.

.

.

More weeks passed, and Keith realised just how lively their baby was when he woke most nights to angry kicking. Pregnancy never lost its charm when the child only needed a touch from Shiro to calm down, but Keith grew sullen and exhausted, growing as impatient to meet their little one that he was to let it vacate his body for it to be fully his again. And yet he loved it, especially when Shiro looked so smitten with their child.

“We’ll be a family,” he declared, always.

And if it was as good as Shiro kept saying, Keith, who had grown up orphaned without one, couldn’t wait to discover it. If it was with Shiro, he knew it would be wonderful.

Thace had asked for him to come, to speak a little, greatly interested in him still, like a father would have been. Keith thought he should bring that the books he had all but stolen and opened the cloak he had hidden them in. One fell promptly and, unable to catch it, Keith stared at its binding cracked and a few pages flew away as it fell.

Cursing under his breath, Keith picked them up. It was one he hadn’t read and, as he touched the last page, noticed the word “transmission” on top of it. Curious, Keith read it, and, as his eyes advanced on the page, could feel his legs wobble under him. A sob rose in his throat and he brought his hand to the swell of his stomach.

Black on white, on the yellowed paper, was a sentence, a curse.

Lycanthropy was, in fact, hereditary.

**Author's Note:**

> shiro is the best puppy mkay he deserves all the belly rubs when he ain't killing people  
> (the "love cures lycanthropy" is bullshit but being accepted for it is still a nice allegory bye)  
> also please remember to comment and kudos if you liked this story, it's what keeps any writer writing! <3


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